


ninety on the freeway

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, M/M, the cars franchise is a quadrilogy if you include this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: When Trevor crosses his legs on the seat next to him and traces his fingertips over the map in his hands, the ink comes off onto his skin.“Here’s the thing,” he starts. “We aren’t lost, but I definitely don’t know where we are.”
Relationships: Cole Caufield/Trevor Zegras
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	ninety on the freeway

**Author's Note:**

> happy loving cole caufield day!

Cole can hear the obnoxious _pop!_ of bubblegum even with the windows down. 

Through his rear view mirror, he sees Trevor lying on the backseat with his feet dangling outside the window. He looks beautiful against the tan leather seats. 

“If a cop pulls me over for the way you’re sitting, I’m telling them you’re holding me against my will,” Cole says.

Trevor smacks his lips against the piece of gum in his mouth. “C’mon, you know that wouldn’t work. They’d never believe I just settled for a chump like you,” he teases.

At the next red light, Cole lays on the brakes as hard as he can, and when Trevor nearly falls off his seat he conveniently forgets to apologize. 

It’s too humid outside and the A/C doesn’t quite fire up like it used to. Cole can feel heat sinking beneath his skin, making everything clammy and gross. 

When Trevor crosses his legs on the seat next to him and traces his fingertips over the map in his hands, the ink comes off onto his skin. 

“Here’s the thing,” he starts. “We aren’t lost, but I definitely don’t know where we are.” 

Cole rolls his eyes, keeping them screwed to the road. “This is why your dad doesn’t let you use his car,” he says. 

“No, it’s because my dad isn’t loaded,” Trevor protests, giving Cole a gentle shove, and Cole swerves the car just a little to play it up. 

Trevor makes a wheezy noise and immediately lurches to grab Cole’s shoulder. 

“Do that again and I am never talking to you again.” 

“Well.” Cole glances over at him, his lips curling into a smile. “In that case.” 

Trevor leans against the mint green exterior of Cole's car and watches the sun die, the sky saturating his skin in hues of pink and orange. His eyes are half-lidded against the light. 

In a few moments, the world will be drained of colour and silhouettes will stalk the surface. Trevor loves watching it happen, always pleading Cole to bring them up to this very same peak. 

It leaves Cole wondering if he could ever truly get away with telling him no. 

“I wish I could stay here forever,” Trevor says, crossing his arms over his chest. He isn’t wearing a jacket. The evening chill sets in earlier and earlier the deeper they carve into autumn.

Cole’s looking back at him from the hood of his car and he realizes he’s staring far too late, quickly flicking his gaze back to the sky. It’s something he should be impressed by, but he can’t help the way his thoughts keep twirling back to Trevor. 

He thinks about the way the light caught on Trevor’s rumpled hair, hitting each strand to create a halo. He thinks about his mouth, pink, pretty, and he thinks about keeping his silence. Maybe for as long as he lives.

The streetlights flicker on too far below them to make much of a difference, but Trevor walks up closer to Cole to look over the edge of the peak. He curls his fingers into the side of the car. 

“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Cole prods, because he likes to get beneath his skin. Then again, it’s more of a distraction for himself than it is anything else. 

Trevor blinks, eyes locked onto the purpling sky. His lips part just slightly and Cole can’t look away. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” he says, faux sweet. 

Trevor curls his lips around a straw and sips happily at his milkshake.

Cole hits a bump in the road. 

“Hey, watch it,” Trevor gasps, clutching both cups in his hands close to his chest. “You’re gonna make me spill this stuff all over your _nice leather seats_.” It sounds patronizing when he says it, but Cole’s still too hung up on Trevor’s mouth to care

He swallows thickly. “Sorry, sorry, it’s too early in the morning for this shit.” 

Trevor brings one of the cups to Cole’s lips and Cole doesn’t actually think it’s his own milkshake, because this cup is a whole lot emptier than he remembers. “Drink,” Trevor orders gently. “You’ll feel better.” 

“I still don’t understand how sugar is supposed to replace caffeine.” 

“It’s not,” Trevor says. “Case says you can get high off of it.” 

“That is so _wrong_. Case is literally going to drop out of college,” Cole complains bitterly, but he still takes a sip of the milkshake. The strawberry flavour spills out over his tongue and when he glances over at Trevor, he’s smiling approvingly. 

Cole doesn’t think about how Trevor’s lips might taste like strawberry. He keeps his eyes on the road and he thinks about concrete. 

“If I see a dent in this thing,” Cole warns, glaring at Trevor from the passenger seat. “Even a scratch, I am kicking you out onto the street. No hesitation. Do not test me.” 

“Stop freaking out, I’ve driven a car before,” Trevor says. He only has one hand on the wheel. “Besides— _oh my god_.”

Trevor slams the brakes at a stop sign and Cole grabs at his seatbelt desperately. 

An elderly woman crosses the street with her dog. 

“I hate you,” Cole rushes out. He can hear his heart thrumming frantically in his throat. “This is the last time you will ever drive a car. Especially my car.” 

“No scratches.” Trevor’s eyebrows bump together. “That’s what you said. You see any scratches?” 

Cole groans and throws his hands over his face when he feels the jolt of Trevor hitting the gas. 

“Patty said he got laid in the backseat of his Ford,” Trevor says. “But I think he’s talking out of his ass.”

Cole can see Trevor’s gaze lingering on him from the corner of his eye. They’re sitting on the hood of his car, which lets Cole lean his back against the icy window. It’s chilly out, but he can still touch the dizzying warmth dusting over his cheeks.

They’re parked in the lot in front of the old warehouse hidden downtown. It’s dark out, the inky sky littered with flashes of red, white, and blue fireworks. 

It is not the 4th of July. New Years is far from it, but it’s the best their town can do. There are no stars out tonight, but each eruption of a firework paints the sky like a piece of art. 

“No, yeah, I completely doubt that,” Cole agrees, looking over at Trevor with the smallest quirk drawing over his mouth. “Patty couldn’t wheel if he was the last guy on the planet.” 

“But,” Trevor starts, and his eyes go to the skies. “Hooking up in a car? You think that would be fun?“ 

Cole nearly swallows his tongue. “Oh, uh,” he blurts, and wishes he could pull the words out of the air and bury them underground. When he looks towards Trevor, he’s wearing the colours of the fireworks on his skin. “It—it would get really cramped. Probably.” 

Trevor laughs, his head still craned towards the sky. “Yeah,” he agrees, his voice much more modulated than Cole’s. “You’re probably right.”

When Trevor sets his hand against the horn, he doesn’t let go until Cole gets inside the car. He still has to forcibly remove his hand from the horn, because there’s a point where deafening himself becomes a concern. 

“I had to grab my hat, holy shit,” Cole says, shoving at him. It’s light, albeit enough to earn one from Trevor, because Trevor’s the type of guy to pull your pigtails. 

“We’re gonna be late for the game,” Trevor argues, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry you don’t care about team spirit, but like,” Trevor gestures to the blue and white stripes over his cheeks. “It’s America’s favourite pastime for a reason.” 

“You’re the worst,” Cole says, and leans back in his seat. He watches Trevor put the car in gear, put _his_ car in gear, until Trevor sees him watching. 

He twists his mouth to the side, frowning. “I am not going to crash your car, seriously.”

“I know, I know. I’m just—still not used to it,” Cole says.

“Used to what?” He asks, eyebrows raised.

Cole looks out the window because he can’t handle Trevor looking at him like that. Not for as long as he does. “You being a good driver,” he says dismissively.

Cole tips his head back, out the driver side window, just to feel the breeze cool the sheen of sweat on his skin. They’re parked on the side of freeway, the road next to them stretching for miles. There’s a barren tree down the road. Each time Cole looks at it, he swears it waves back at him.

“Stop moving,” Trevor says, squeezing Cole’s foot still on his lap. 

He’s doodling patterns around the Converse logo sewn into the fabric of his shoe. And the flowers he plants along the stitching are all too bright against the white cloth, but Cole likes watching Trevor work. He likes seeing the way he squints to focus, the subtle pinch of his eyebrows, the way he tucks loose hair behind his ear. 

Cole wants to ask him so, so many things. He wants to ask why he always comes back to Cole. He wants to ask him to tell a story, just to listen to the inflections of his voice. He wants to still his careful hands and ask if he can press his lips to the skin. 

Cole wants to ask, _has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?_

When Trevor catches him looking, he cracks a tiny smile. “Stop peeking, close your eyes,” he chides gently, fingers curling around Cole’s ankle. 

Cole groans and reluctantly tilts his head back.

One night, underneath the starlight, Cole pops back the convertible top of his car and they lie back to watch the stars. Trevor counts them, just underneath his breath, because they’re far enough in the countryside to identify each individual speck dotted across the sky. 

Cole listens to him, listens until Trevor hits a hundred, and then he asks, “Haven’t people ever told you that you can’t count them all?” 

“What do people know,” Trevor says, leaning his head against the top of Cole’s. He sounds so small. “If I could, I’d count every single star in the sky, then rearrange them all and wait for someone to notice.” 

Cole smiles down at the ground, nudging him with his shoulder. “Trev?” 

“Hm?” 

“You gotta stop smoking.”

“I do not _smoke_ ,” Trevor insists, laughing, and prods his elbow into Cole’s side hard enough that it makes him jump.

It’s an hour from midnight and Trevor is reading the words off Cole’s textbook from over his shoulder. 

“Do you mind?” Cole says, snarky. He raises his shoulder just enough to put in an effort, but not enough to get Trevor to move from where his chin is hooked overtop of it. 

“Yeah, actually.” He pinches Cole’s sides hard enough that he flails gracelessly.

“Stop that.” Cole swats at his hands. “Go home.” 

“Actually, I was thinking we could go somewhere else.” 

Cole’s skeptical enough that he could immediately shoot down the idea, but with the light in Trevor’s eyes, he’s rendered weak enough to at least hear him out. 

“The street lamps are on,” Cole protests, although lightly enough that all Trevor does is roll his eyes skyward. 

“We aren’t twelve anymore.” He leans in close, like he’s divulging important information. “Actually, I was thinking we’d see a movie. At the drive-in by the park.” Trevor smiles at him. And Cole thinks he might even flutter his lashes. “It’ll be fun, I swear. Plus, they’re actually showing something decent tonight.” 

“What is it?” 

“No idea, but I know it’s good.” 

Cole shakes his head. “There’s no way you can know that for sure.” 

“Okay,” Trevor huffs. “I don’t actually _know_ know what’s playing, but it can’t be that bad, right? Like, we like movies. Movies are good.” 

The proposal comes off the same exact way Cole has seen Trevor ask girls out. Words awkward and jumbling together, the tips of his cheeks flushing pink. For the longest time, Cole thought the sputtering nonsense was just an act. 

“I have homework,” Cole says, not nearly convincing enough. 

“I’m taking that as a yes?” Trevor asks. He hops onto his feet and when he holds a hand out for Cole, Cole almost unwillingly hooks his fingers onto his wrist to pull himself up.

“Fine. Yes,” he murmurs.

Trevor grins, too smug, too confident. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“It’s way too cold to put the top down,” Cole warms, and the side eye he gets from Trevor makes his face go hot. 

“So you’re trying to get me all to yourself, huh?” 

Cole knows he’s kidding, but somehow it’s enough to make his stomach churn anxiously. Like Trevor knows. Like Trevor could possibly know. 

“Fuck off,” Cole returns weakly, too focused on gliding into a parking spot. 

There’s already film rolling on the big screen, but it’s an advert for the Snack Shack. Cole thinks to ask Trevor if he wants anything, but Trevor’s already got his window rolled down and an arm thrown over the back of the seat. 

He looks over at him, and when they lock eyes, Cole feels unsteady. 

He shifts, if only to roll down his own window, but it’s hard enough without having to worry about Trevor’s eyes on the back of his neck. 

When he finds the bravery in himself to glance back, Trevor’s gaze is fixed to the screen and Cole breathes a little easier, in and out. He counts his exhales. 

There are cars scattered all around them. Some of them are accompanied by lawn chairs and folks in thin jackets. Other cars are parked further back, with tinted windows and soft, practically muted, music flowing from their radios. Every now and then, a plume of smoke will drift out of a cracked window.

Cole wishes he parked a little closer to the screen. 

For the most part, Cole doesn’t watch a lot of movies. He thinks they’re too long, drawn out in ways they don’t need to be, and uninteresting. So, ten minutes in, when Trevor’s gaze is stagnant on the screen, his arm warm against the back of Cole’s neck, everything slows to a crawl. Cole can’t fend off the tired ache flickering behind his eyelids, forcing his eyes to droop shut. 

For the most part, he doesn’t mean to fall asleep on Trevor’s shoulder. Not during an action movie that seems to be so impactful for absolutely everyone else, but Trevor is warm where everything else is cold, and.

Cole wakes up to a gentle nudge. For a moment, he thinks he’s back home on a warm bed, buried beneath a blanket. But he raises his head to meet Trevor’s eyes and realizes the buzz of pain in his cheekbone is from pressing into his shoulder. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says, quiet even with the soundtrack of the movie playing. “I didn’t wanna wake you up, but.” 

When Trevor gestures to the screen, all that’s occupying it is end credits. They scroll smoothly across a black background and Cole brings a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to miss the entire thing,” he says, trying not to trip over his words. “I—I am so sorry, you should’ve just woken me up. I wasn’t trying to be a dickhead, I swear.”

“Cole.” 

Cole looks at Trevor and he doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but it feels like worry. Trevor has always been good at reading him regardless.

“I had fun,” he says, sounding so, so honest. “I mean, even if you were probably asleep the entire time. I didn’t really notice until halfway through the movie when I realized I was talking to myself. I kinda just thought you were a lousy conversationalist.”

“That’s me,” Cole says sheepishly. 

“C’mon,” Trevor says. “Move onto my side, I’ll drive you home.” 

Cole stares at the blur of street lamps dotting the streets as Trevor drives, listening to him hum softly in tune with the radio. 

Cole doesn’t recognize the crooning musician, but he closes his eyes and drifts off anyways. 

Everything settles where it belongs, everything in its place. 

Thunder rocks the earth underneath them and Cole pulls over on the side of the road, trying his hardest not to clip the curb. He can’t see much, not with the amount of rain pelting against the windows, ruthless and never ending. 

He groans, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. A couple cars pull over in front of them. 

“How is anybody supposed to drive in this?” 

The radio begins splitting into static and Trevor reaches out to mute it. 

“You don’t,” he says, calm. “Just wait it out, this can’t last much longer than five minutes. And it’s a hell of a lot better than crashing into something.”

Cole peers out the window at the rainwater, pattering, pattering, pattering. He sighs harshly.

“Okay, distraction,” Trevor says, and he trails off, eyes darting around the car. “Um, iSpy—“

“Please don’t.” 

Trevor grins at him, all teeth. “With my little eye,” he continues.

“ _Water_ ,” Cole says, frustrated. “There is literally nothing else it could be. Clouds.” 

Trevor leans in closer, over the middle of the front bench. “Guess again.” 

Cole swallows. “You didn’t give me the hint.” 

Trevor’s gaze doesn’t stray away from him. He looks serious, but the smallest part of him, beneath everything else, is playful. “Guess again,” he repeats. 

“C’mon,” Cole pleads, hating how thinly his voice comes out. 

“C’mon what?” Trevor’s painfully close. Just out of reach.

The car behind them pulls back into the lane and when Cole hurriedly tracks it, he realizes the rain has dulled. 

“Oh, we—we’re good,” he says, but Trevor brings a hand to the side of his neck. His fingers feather the skin just enough that it tickles. 

“Just. Give me a second.” Trevor’s face is so, so red. “Tell me if this is okay, yeah? If you want me to stop, just.” 

Cole sees it coming. Every moment of the lead in, when he feels the slide of Trevor’s mouth against his, when he realizes, with a pang in his chest, that he’s _kissing_ him. 

It’s quick, dry, nothing to write home about, but the look on Trevor’s face when he pulls back is what does it for him. It’s what makes his heart race, the soft stretch of a smile, the shy eyes. 

“I read that right?” Trevor asks. 

“You,” Cole pauses, and he doesn’t know how to find the words in his vocabulary to do his feelings any justice. He doesn’t think he has to. 

Instead, he shifts his car into gear. "We are absolutely not making out here."

"But we're making out?" 

"Not here," Cole stresses.


End file.
